Black TIE?? Not Black EYE? My Mistake

The Harman Center for the Arts Gala  - one of Washington DC's biggest cultural events. By far the most glamorous and formal evening I've ever been a part of. This year, the honoree was Julie Taymor (the creative mind behind the Lion King on Broadway, the Tempest with Helen Mirren--who was also there, Frieda, and a bunch of other really incredible, largely award-winning things). The greatest perk of my job thus far was the assignment to be Julie's personal contact person for the weekend, her handler.

I felt like Cinderella (or maybe Cinderella's personal assistant.)

The Gala was a dream; the night before was a nightmare. But a kind of funny nightmare, which is why I had to write it down:

For reasons that are unrelated to the Gala, and are irrelevant to this story, I had been crying. 

Really solid, streaming, sobbing, weeping tears. You know, the kind of good cry you get in once a year. So I crawl into bed - nose stuffy, head cloudy, with eyes so puffy it's a struggle to keep them open. So I don't bother. I reach for my phone to set the alarm for the morning--to go see my dear friends, Julie Taymor and Helen Mirren - in the pitch black, the phone is knocked to the ground beside my bedside table. Immediately, I lean over, with unthinking full velocity, pull my body down to reach for the fallen soldier.  Because my eyes are closed, I don't seen the thick, wooden bed frame sticking out past my bed. On my way down, I hear a thud, then feel a blast of pain shoot through my left eye. 

I swear loudly. Because I live alone, I swear again, louder. 

I jump up to get some frozen peas for what I'm sure is a peach-sized black and blue bruise. I don't have frozen peas. The only thing in my freezer is a frozen pizza and those instant meal, microwave pad-thai boxes. 

I run to the bathroom, frozen noodles glued to my face, to examine the damage. How am I going to explain a purple shiner to the first female to ever win a Tony award for directing?! Excuses race through my head.

I don't drink, so I couldn't use intoxication.

Some legitimate considerations: 

-I got hit by a car. But don't worry, I'm fine. 

-I got mugged; crazy people out on Halloween. But don't worry, I'm totally fine. 

-I saved a small child from a run-away piece of construction machinery. I'm a little sore, but I'm really, totally fine. 

Anything is better than the truth: 

I RAMMED MY FACE INTO MY BED FRAME. 

I can't tell the level of damage. My eye is swollen, and pinkish, but was that from crying? It hurts to open or wink, but again--preexisting post-weeping conditions? I suppose I will have to wait until the morning to really get an accurate assessment on how well I need to craft an excuse. 

My do-it-yourself noodles are quickly losing their cold. Desperate, I return to my freezer. Wonder of Miracles, I have an ice tray! Some ice fairy must have put it there and filled it with water, so that in this moment I can have sweet, relieving ice.  

Sandwich bag full of ice in hand, I crawl back into bed. 

The next morning, the sandwich bag is now full of water, but it's still chilled. Both of my tired eyes appreciate the cool, so I share the wealth with the right eye. Thinking back on the events of the evening, I want to roll my eyes at the stupidity! But alas, I cannot.

I do go back to the mirror- one eye cannot open quite as wide as the other; but the asymmetry is negligible.

Wild relief: no shiner.

No need to lie to Julie Taymor about a car accident or to Dame Helen about my heroism. I just have to make sure I don't use the wrong fork at dinner or trip on my dress. Because there's a real possibility I might hit something on the way down and get a black eye.

P.S. Julie Taymor, Elliot Goldenthal, Helen Mirren, Jennifer Damiano, Fabrice Calmels, Albina Shagimuratova and so many more brilliant people at the gala were as amazing in person as you'd imagine them to be.